


Point of a needle

by Boredofusername



Category: Supernatural, endverse - Fandom
Genre: Dean's POV, Fanwork of Fanwork, Inspired by Down to Agincourt Series - seperis, M/M, Monologue, short prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:39:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9941915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boredofusername/pseuds/Boredofusername
Summary: 'Color me blue, for the ocean and the sky that meet at the horizon and all I think of is you'





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seperis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seperis/gifts).



> I am a huge, huge fan of Seperis's DtA series. It is everything that an endverse is usually not, and I have lost count of times I have read the series. It has inspired many poems and short prose in me, and I thought I would share a few. I am in no way compatible to the author when it comes to the style, the flow and general magnificence of her work. 
> 
> All the original work belongs to the author. only this humble piece with all the typos and mistakes is mine.

The blue of his eyes looks like trapped midnight. Too deep, too old, and wearing at the seams from exhaustion that rides hard on his shoulder. Sometimes when night spills around them and silence whispers in between their body gaps, he wishes to pour in all his fear, and helpless weariness but words never make it to his lips and frailty of the moment always teeters on tumbling over to all the things they can't forgive each other of. Days are less cruel in their noisy awareness where hiding behind an excuse is almost a mercy but this dance of theirs, wanting to be closer and fearing the burn that is inevitable is driving him so up against the wall. Their fights are almost as reverent as prayers for those are the only times he can justify them being pushed and clawed without conscience mocking at his threadbare morality. But one of these days, he is going to break. And he wonders if Cas would still be there to pick up all the pieces.

Things are blurry. His _‘friends’_ are there, about a meter away, and all he feels is, how out of place he feels all the time. His emotions are havoc, and there's this need for somebody that he can't place. He feels hollow. He longs to be loved, but at the same time it is such an abhorrent feeling he simply refuses to feel. He hates the paradox and juxtaposition that he has become. He can't let go of the things that breaks him so beyond repair, because they are all he have, all he ever had. This, this monster that lives inside him and gnaws at his senses and overwhelms him is also the only thing that is his. What does he do, when all he is, and ever had is absolutely destroying him?

One can't find God, dreaming of one’s own dead self standing at the altar of a long gone burned down church, and for one moment Dean relives the warmth of seeing Cas in it, phantom as it is. For a fleeting moment, there's a life he wanted, hell, he even had before world tilt an axis to be crapper and gun powder is all that they can smell anymore. He ain't praying. God took a retirement the day humans found fire. Now all that's left is the pyre to burn out what's left of them all anyway.

Myriad fantasies often clog his messy mind, when he watches Cas going on about everyday life. His fingers claw his palm till they bleed, but he never seems to find the words forever lodged in his throat. In between innumerable opiate fix and coffee and late night talking on the cabin’s roof, Dean itches to run his fingers through the long and messy hairs of Cas, to hold him, to lay down all his fears and the things he has no name for but keep swelling inside him like the sea feeling brazen to the woos of the moon. He supposes, Cas is his moon. Forever hiding his scars in favor of keeping Dean from prodding at old wounds, that sometimes escapes through his eyes.

Sometimes Dean stares at Cas when he cooks Dean’s meals with such surgical precision and Dean wonders what makes anyone worthy of someone’s unwavering devotion? Why people seem to mistake declaration of love to be to die for someone, but forgets living for someone else is harder. Cas still breaths because Dean’s has not stopped. Yet. And Dean doesn’t know if he will ever be ready to love with ferocity like Cas, to bleed his own grace into the walls of Chitaque to keep Dean safe. Does it even matter? Kissing Cas is like tasting storms, and fresh air of mountain, or the salty sea water. Kissing Cas is like coffee that he takes, too sweet; like gun powder, _like Cas_. Kissing Cas sets Dean’s whole body on fire, licking at his flailed nerves, and clenching his heart beating too fast. Cas is like a hurricane trapped in a jar and the first brush of lips unfurls something in Dean, desires too huge to be just lust, too much Cas. Dean wants and wants but Cas seems to be only testing him, mocking him for his human-ness and Dean wants to shoot himself. But Cas keeps coming back, with his too carefully cooked meals, with his plans for Chitaque, with all the gifts that he gifts Dean, with his sass, and Dean keeps clutching at straws not knowing his footings.

When finally they make it beyond three layers of clothing of his and mismatched socks and too large tees of Cas, Dean almost thanks Lucifer for burning the world. He knows the favors aren’t balanced, but shit, when Cas looks at him with blown pupils he is ready to call it square. He feels too much, wants Cas to crawl inside him and it doesn’t feel enough. This Cas, with his hedonism and orgies is too skilled that Dean keeps plunging into abyss and the feeling that he never uses to describe anything bliss through him.

Transcendence.

May be end of the world is what he needed, what they both needed because there might be a crotoun break out tomorrow but as long as he has this, has Cas he will pick his guns and he will shoot through the motherfuckers and he will burn Lucifer in all his Devil’s glory, till Cas doesn’t have to breathe because he has to, but because he wants to…


End file.
